tarantism
by Sherry-Doll
Summary: It wasn't just a disease. It was a way of life. And that life, Lovino decided, was something he wanted to stab in the face multiple times with a screwdriver while screaming profanities and wishing the blood on his hands were real. Spamano, AU
1. uno

**AN:** Aiyah, so it's been a while...I've actually written like a shitload of Hetalia fics but NEVER FINISHED THEM DB -crai-

I know this is short, and I had...other stuff attached, but my friends keep going "JUST POST WHAT YOU HAVE, GOD" and I'm always like "BUT I HAVEN'T FINISHED THE CHAPTER DAMMIT" and then they slap me, sooooo...whatever. My face is more precious now that I have a chicken man. |D

Yeah. Multi-chap. I _know, right?_ 8'D Will be Spamano...and I hope I can actually keep writing this, hurr...enjoy.

EDIT: Has been lengthened.

**DISCLAIMER IS A DISCLAIMER. YEAH. SHUT UP.  
><strong>

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><p><em>tarantism: an alleged and possibly deadly envenomation consistent with mass psychogenic illness.<em>

_a dancing disease._

* * *

><p>Shit. This was <em>bad.<em>

No, no, it wasn't as bad as –

_BANG! _

_– _ okay, _no_, it was.

Seriously. _Shit._ Jesus, why did the fucking toilet seat cover have to be so _loud_ when he dropped it?

Lovino clenched his fists to stop them from trembling as he crouched on the seat. It didn't work. As usual. But it was okay, really, because he had locked himself in one of the stalls in the men's bathroom, called his sister to come and get him ("Ve, should I bring Ludwi –" "_NO._" "But he can help – !" "No means _no_, Feli! There's no fucking way I'm letting the potato-bastard anywhere near me!" ) and all he could do now was wait for her text saying that she was outside so that he could get the fuck out of this place. Nothing bad would happen to him, nothing was going to blow up in his face, and most importantly, no one would _ever fucking know_ that Lovino Vargas had just had a fit in the middle of the dairy section at the grocery store.

He shuddered as his arm twitched uncontrollably, hitting the side of the stall with a muted thump. Next would be his legs, convulsing of their own free will until he fell off the toilet seat if he hadn't braced himself against the walls first. It was the most disgusting, despicable thing he'd ever known, the thing he hated most about himself. And Feliciana couldn't get here quick enough.

As the next series of shivers hit him, he heard the door swing open and someone (presumably a man. Ha _ha_) walked in, whistling a bright tune and sounding as corny as something out of an eighties sitcom. Not that he _watched _eighties sitcoms, dammit. You know. Only sometimes. It was fucking boring staying indoors all day and the TV had nothing else on, geez. Not like he had actually _enjoyed_ them, or something equally pansy and gay. Fuck no.

He inwardly cursed the man for coming in, biting his lip and clutching his shaking arms close to his body. If he flailed out and hit something, the man would know something was up. He would ask what was wrong; unless he was an unbelievable dickface who just didn't care, which Lovino really, really hoped he was; and the Italian would have nothing to say. "I dropped something," might be a good answer, but the only thing he _had_ to drop was his Blackberry, which he was definitely _not_ letting anywhere near that disgusting, sodden, toilet-paper-covered floor, and his Armani wallet, which he also –

Which was not in his coat pocket.

_Shit!_ Where the _fu – _oh. Oh, Holy Mother of Christ, of _all the places he had to have an attack_ –

No, wait, it was in his _pants_ pocket. Alright then. He _still_ wasn't going to drop it on that fucking floor.

Using one hand to grip his hair and the other to brace against his leg, the Italian waited, teeth gritted, for the man to leave.

Fucking _grocery stores. _He was _never_ setting foot in one again.

Lovino remembered now. Dairy isle, cheeses. He had been scowling at the refrigerated shelves, bemoaning the fact that his grandfather was setting up an alliance with that Swiss weirdo with the huge sister complex, resulting in him having to actually _buy cheese_ since his own idiot sister was off with her, ugh, _fiancé._

He'd been seriously contemplating the thought of setting fire the entire place because _where the fuck was the fondue, dammit,_ when he'd felt the tingling in his fingertips – and then it came so suddenly he barely had time to put the cheddar wedge he'd been considering back on the shelf before his body took over jerkily, much to his unbelieving horror. Lovino had dragged himself, _somehow,_ to the bathroom, every pair of curious eyes a burning imprint on his skin, humiliation swallowing him and making itself known in every hitched breath, every uncontrollable twist of his limbs. God, he was such an _idiot_, thinking – actually _thinking_ that he could handle this. Thinking that the problem was gone after just _two weeks_. Thinking that the doctors had actually diagnosed him_ properly_ this time. A choked gasp escaped from his mouth – no, it was _not_ a sob, dammit, he was _not_ crying over this – as he burst into the men's room and staggered into a stall, fumbling to click the lock in place before standing there, still except for the occasional spasms that shook up his legs.

And then the phone had suddenly appeared in his hand and he was dialling, fighting to keep his voice steady as his sister's voice grew increasingly louder and more concerned, and then, of course, the inevitable toilet seat that came crashing down, and, and _now –_

A flush, more happy whistling, and Lovino finally let out a sigh of relief. At least one of his problems was gone, or at least in the middle of leaving. The tap squeaked to life, and the Italian's hands decided to choose that moment to ignore his efforts to still them, slamming violently into the wall of the stall.

He let out an uncontrollable yelp, pain exploding in his knuckles. His legs jerked, forming their own terrible dance, and he slipped sideways off the seat at the sudden movement, landing hard on the despicably wet tiles amidst flailing limbs.

The whistling stopped mid-tune.

_Fuck_.

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><p><p>

It had been something of a slow day for Antonio, but then again, he didn't mind taking things slow. More pressure from his aunt, as usual, but he couldn't care less and waved off her nagging by saying something about going to the grocery store for tomatoes – which was complete and utter _bullshit_, of course – everyone knew the Carriedo household had an overabundance of the plant in their ah, backyard, so to speak. Most likely he'd end up buying his own products at the store, they were that famous.

Still, it definitely wasn't _tomatoes_ that had paid for the shiny red Ferrari parked out the front of the manor. Antonio had often wondered whether it would be the smartest option to drive the glaringly _sexy_ beast down a normal street, let alone leave it in the dirty old parking lot next to tired-looking Accords and Camrys as he went to stock up on fruit-vegetable-_things_ he didn't even need. Then again, he didn't think anyone would really _dare; _he was, after all, a Carriedo. In any case, no one had _done _anything yet, and the car was definitely the last of his worries these days.

Things like that didn't really bother him often.

So in all cheerfulness, Antonio had walked into the grocery store in search of his _tomates hermosos_, content to maybe buy some ingredients for making churros as well in an attempt to appease his aunt. Nothing else.

As it so happened, the need to go to the bathroom led to a rather interesting encounter.

Antonio paused in the act of turning the tap off at the loud commotion coming from one of the stalls and the string of curses that followed. A few beats of silence, and then the tapping and thudding started up again – and if he strained his ears, he could hear a soft whimper with each bang.

Well. _This_ could easily be an awkward situation.

It wasn't exactly curiosity that made him do it. Okay, that was a complete lie – curiosity was really the only reason why he bothered to stop in the first place. People didn't usually make...that kind of noise in public restrooms. It sounded like whoever was in there was repeatedly kicking the sides of the stall, or else just stomping really, really hard.

And, well. Since when did _the _Antonio Fernandez Carriedo turn down a chance for an, ah, _adventure_, so to speak?

Cautiously, he stalked towards the closed door as the thuds lulled, heavy breathing the only sound in the bathroom. Huh, it had stopped, but...

Antonio smiled brightly at nothing in particular and knocked. "Is there something wrong?"

* * *

><p><p>

"No!" Lovino hissed, hating the way his voice cracked slightly. Ugh. There was a wet patch spreading across his jeans already, and it was _gross_. He stood gingerly, rubbing his head where it had knocked against the cistern as he'd slid onto the ground. "N-nothing's wrong, just go away."

"Really?" The voice sounded unusually cheerful for someone who was trying to seem worried. "I heard some loud noises, are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm okay. I, um. Fell. Off the toilet seat. Yeah." Lovino winced at his hesitant excuse. "Because I, uh. Dropped this..." He rifled through his pocket quickly, unwilling to use either of the aforementioned items as a reason. "...this, uh, coin. Yeah, this coin."

There was a silence wherein the Italian mentally smacked himself numerous times whilst screaming profanities in his native tongue in an attempt to diffuse the obviousness of his stupidity. _What the fuck was that?_ Who in their _right mind_ would believe _that _kind of bullshi _– _

"Oh, okay!" The man's voice, if possible, seemed to grow even happier. What. The _fuck._ It had actually _worked_? It continued on in a bright, senseless gush of words. "I guess I'll wait out here, then, just in case you drop something else and need my help!"

Lovino almost choked on his own spit. No. _No._ His problem was supposed to _leave_, not hang around to be some obnoxious retard. Some obnoxiously _cheerful_ retard who was obviously taking a jab at his idiocy. Goddamn sarcasm. "No, I don't think I need your help. I think you can leave. I really think so." He was unable to keep the annoyance out of his tone in the last sentence – _good_, maybe that'd repel the freak outside.

"But what if something else happens? It would be better if someone were here, _si?_"

Ugh, so _insistent_. And smooth, almost _lilting_ with the deep accent – but no, what the _hell_ was he thinking? No. He was _definitely_ not checking out some random guy's voice while in a public restroom. He didn't even _like guys. _Yeah, he totally never checked out the cute pizza delivery dudes that frequented those stupid German bastards when they weren't stuffing themselves with wurst. Jesus. Like Feliciana (or him – not that he'd _want _to. Psht.) couldn't make them much _nicer, healthier, authentic _Italian food. Assholes.

"No need, really," he tried. "There's...really, no..."

"I'm Antonio, by the way!" he continued mindlessly, seeming to lean against the door with a soft _thump_. "I really like tomatoes, do you like tomatoes? Tomatoes are _Hermosa._ And so delicious, _si?_"

...Okay, this man was either _seriously high_ or _seriously gay._ And Spanish. Probably all three.

"I grow them in my metaphorical backyard. Heh, I just learnt that word yesterday! It's a funny word, _metaphorical; _don't you think so, uh...hey, I don't know your name. What's your name?"

"I'm not going to fucking _tell you my name_, _bastardo!_" he practically snarled, collapsing back on the seat. Oh, hell, he was stuck with an absolute psycho. In a _public restroom_. Where he'd _just had a fit_. And of course he had to repeat it. Those kinds of traumatic things were hard to take in, God. "I don't care about your stupid tomatoes either! They're disgusting!"

That was a lie. Of _spontaneous_ proportions. Lovino loved tomatoes – especially the ones in this particular grocery store. He'd been planning to stock up as soon as he'd finished with the Mr Trigger-happy's solid milk supply. Carrida or something; was that the name of the brand? Did tomatoes even _have_ a brand? Whatever, this Spanish asshole was _not_ going to know.

"That's not true!" the man whined. There was a light thump, and he stared in vehemence and the door that was obviously being leaned on. What the fuck, like it was _his right to be here._ Which it was, technically, since it was a public restroom and all, but Lovino didn't _want him here_, okay!

"Whatever! Just…" He scrubbed at his face, growling as he considered the situation. Okay. So...he could easily say that nothing was wrong, apart from like, _clumsiness that bordered on abject stupidity_ over a _coin_; yeah, totally. "You don't have to stay, nothing's wrong. Go get some tomatoes or something." He could just walk out now. Yes. Yes, he could. He reached over the closed seat for the flush button.

_Buzz._ "SUNSHINE, LOLLIPOPS_ ANNNNND_ RAINBOWS, EVERYTHING _THAT'S_ WONDERFUL, INCREDIBLE WHENNNNN WE'RE _TO-GEH-THUR –"_

Ohdearheavens_yes_, it was Feliciana, wasn't it, his sister was here, and _yes,_ he could finally get out of here! Stupid bastard just had to leave and he could get out of here in dignity and _no one would know_ –

_Beep._ "Argh, _mio dio_, I'm coming, coming…"

Wait. _What_.

"What?" The man growled, and it was such a dangerously _pleasant_ growl, one that sent unthinking shivers trembling down his spine. And – Lovino felt like slapping himself – when _had_ his ringtone been so gay-sounding? Nuh-uh, there was no way his sister had changed it back to the one he'd used back when he was still a lame-ass kid – it had been cool in those days, Jesus. "You really can't handle it on your own? Fine, I'm coming now." Deep, dangerous and angry. And still a growl. Lovino took a deep breath just as the snap of a shutting phone sounded and his attention was jolted back to the faceless Spaniard behind the door. Shit, no, he still wasn't checking out the man's voice. He really wasn't.

"I have to go now, stranger!" It was back to chirpy, not even a strained undertone disturbing the rich tune. Lovino swore he'd learn how to do that…someday. It would be useful in future grocery-store-esque situations, when he was trying to calm Feliciana down over the phone even while his limbs were throwing themselves against the walls. "Careful not to drop anything else! You don't want to fall again…"

"I'll be fine, thank you," he ground out. Was he _still _going on about this? The Italian glared at the whitewashed door, sorely tempted to just kick it open and deal whoever the fuck was out there with lasting damage to their face. And he would make sure to specifically target their voice box. Hah, see if you can sound sexy and Spanish _now, bastardo!_

"Ah, then _adios__!_ I might see you if you come around to this grocery store more often. I hear they sell the most delicious tomatoes, _si!_ You should try them. They probably aren't as disgusting as you think." The laugh infuriated Lovino more than anything – so what if he hated tomatoes (_not_). Why was this asshole trying to force it down his throat, huh? He didn't like to think about that – didn't like to think about his grandfather and _his_ ideals – even if it was just tomatoes and even if it was just a stranger, and even though he'd just had a fit in the middle of the dairy fucking isle, he…shit.

Shit, no. He'd gone too far. Stupid train of thoughts. This was _not_ happening. He was _not_ thinking about this, he _wasn't –_

The man began to whistle again. It drilled into his ears, the light sound of footsteps clacking away on hard tiles drawing him out of…whatever that was. It wasn't anything, he insisted to himself, hand inching towards the flush button as the door to the men's room swung shut, cutting the cheerful tune off and leaving him alone on a toilet seat. Not anything, just a weirdo with a Spanish accent who had said something that had made Lovino think of something else.

Yeah, no – _buzz_ – was that his phone?

…Yes, it was his phone_, yes!_ Finally; he didn't even care if Feli had dragged her stupid German potato along, just as long as he could get out of here; Lovino fished his Blackberry out, eyes flicking in relief to the screen, mouth stretched in a grin of wicked rapture, where he saw flashing in bright colours –

_Your phone is on less than ten percent battery._

_– _oh, _fuck._

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><p><strong>AN: <strong>...the ending was typed up in like ten minutes. -sob- Expect more, but not soon...


	2. due

**AN:** I should be banned from writing multi-chaps. Like, right now.

For one, it takes me an unholy amount of time to actually _update_ because writer's block is _gay_ and _stupid_ and needs to swallow a big fish spine and get it stuck in their damn throat because ow that really hurts _right now_, and for another...what the hell is up with my writing. _Seriously._ It's so fucking inconsistent and _not the same style _– WHAT IS THIS, I CAN'T EVEN CARRY IT ON FROM THE LAST CHAPTER SOB –

Well.

Just...

...-sob-

**Disclaimer:**...-wails quietly-

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><p>"No one needs to know."<p>

"Ve? Know what?" His sister blinked through lashes heavy with mascara, peering at the scowling reflection standing next to her.

"I said," he ground out, eyes steeled on his own mirrored image as he smoothed out his lapels, gazing critically at the open collar. The glass was both massive and magnificent, spanning almost the entire wall of the suite and gilded with artistically faded gold. Just like everything else in the room. And just like everything else in the room, standing in front of it or even in the near _vicinity_ of it made him feel extremely rich and extremely small, which was why he stood next to Feliciana – obviously because _she _would feel tiny and insignificant (even though she _was_ taller than him) if he stood all the way on the other end, dammit, and then _she _would whine and cling to his arm and get her stupid make up all over his nice black suit. Fuck. Lovino wasn't a _pansy; _that was his _sister,_ not him_. _"I said that _no one needs to know,_ especially not the old man, alright? I told you –"

" – fifteen times already, _fratello. Si_, I counted. And _no_, I haven't told anyone yet," she sighed into her lipstick, shaking chocolate brown tendrils out of her face to focus on perfect application.

He spun around to grab the tie off an equally gilded sofa, shoes clacking on the polished boards as he resumed his spot beside his sister, letting the fabric slide on his trembling fingers a little uncertainly. _What._ He goddamn _knew_ how to tie a tie. He'd just...well, he'd had a fucking fit earlier so that was his excuse for forgetting the basic process he had _so_ done a million times before _without _Feliciana's help _so there_. "There was the potato fucker. You told _him_," Lovino sniped, strapping the silk around his neck and wincing at the soreness there. "You told him and he – he _saw me_. How could you let that happen? How could you _do_ that to me?"

"Do what to you, Lovi?" Her eyes swivelled to his, his real ones, not the identical pair staring at her in the mirror. "Ludwig _knows_ already, ve, and he wouldn't let me take the vespa alone after what happened at the market. With the fruit cart. Aheheheheh..." she trailed off, giggling a little sheepishly before coughing, a slight whine entering her voice. "Besides, _you_ shouldn't have gone alone. That was really stupid, ve, _fratello_, especially considering your condition."

His cheeks flushed red at her disapproving tone – the words cut. "I'm not letting those suited bastards follow me around anymore. As if they could have fucking helped, anyway!" Goddammit, his hands still trembled as he tried looping the tie around – around and again on both sides, up and in and _pull_, wasn't it? It was that simple, wasn't it? – causing him to fumble as the fabric slipped through his fingers to pool at his feet with a well-timed expletive. He bent to pick the damn thing up, seething. "_Besides_, I'm a fucking grown man. I don't need _babysitters_ trailing after me just because the old bastard finally thinks he has enough money to buy me off; enough to keep me locked up and out of sight like a _goddamn prisoner_ in my own home!" The burst of hot rage gave him enough strength to savagely yank the tie into what he severely hoped counted as acceptable in the world of tie-tying, even as the rest of his body shuddered in exhaustion. Lovino swayed on the spot, glaring at the silk mess around his still open collar.

Feliciana sighed, and turned to face him. "I know, ve. But he only wants the best for you..." She picked at the stubborn knot with delicate fingers. "He means well, you know, you don't always have to be so angry."

Angry at his grandfather? Or angry at the world in general? _So_ hard to choose between the two – he isn't even going to try. "Shut the fuck up and just tie it, _sorella._"

She sighed, pursing her carefully glossed lips and unravelling to silk to start again.

He was silent with relief. Sometimes his sister could be so stubborn, and today he didn't feel like he had enough energy to stand against it. But maybe there was another reason he was relieved – she hadn't seemed to realise it yet, and he was hoping they could go the whole night without –

"Ve." Her hands stilled, and she stared at him, a little furrow between her brows. "Are you sure you should be going out there tonight? I mean..."

"...I'm going." His legs trembled minutely, but he had his face under perfect control. "I'll be fine. I'm always fine when I play, so just – shut up."

With one final pat, Feliciana gave him a look and shrugged away, heels clacking on the tiles and gown – blue, satin and sleeveless – trailing behind her like a night attendant. He blinked. "Feli!"

"Mm? _Che cosa?_" Her head turned.

His movements were slow and hesitant, something unseen passing in his eyes as he drew closer to her. "...you forgot this."

Her gaze darted down, catching onto the object in his hand with a small flare of surprise and panic. "_G-grazie, fratello_," she stuttered, flitting to his side. Her hand was cool in his as she took it and shot him a quick, shaky grin. _That was close_, said the grin.

_It was,_ he replied silently as she spun around for the second time and headed out to the stage area for rehearsals. _It really was, sorella._

* * *

><p>It was starting to itch already.<p>

_Damn_, if Antonio had known this particular shirt was that starchy he'd never have worn the thing. But it was the first thing he'd grabbed out of his wardrobe and besides, it wasn't going to take that long, right...? He sighed, rubbing his temples and leaning back in his seat, trying not to look too bored.

"Toni," prompted Femke.

He was fiddling with his program, watching the ornate '_t' _in '_scappatella'_ crack white as he bent the paper. Maybe he could leave at intermission, give some excuse about his aunt being sick...

She rolled her own program up and slapped him lightly over the head with it. "Tonio!"

Antonio blinked, swerving his head up to meet her gaze with a confused, "Mm, what's wrong? Claustrophobic? Afraid of heights? Do you need those funny binocular things those ladies over there are using?"

Femke rolled her eyes at him, crossing her arms. "Be serious, Antonio. I didn't take you here for nothing, alright? You need to relax – it's been too long since you've had a night out. If my brother's been working you too hard, just _say_ so."

"Sweetheart, if you wanted me to have a good night you shouldn't be telling me to be _serious_," he laughs, patting her shoulder and shifting forward in his chair to peer over the balcony. "I'm sorry if I seem distracted, but I'm pretty tired. The last client just wouldn't quit, and things got a bit...messy."

She frowned, thwacking him upside the head again. "You told me that was _tomato sauce!_ 'Tonio, you _know_ you're not supposed to kill your clients, that's _my _job!"

He winced, rubbing his head with a silent _ow_. "It wasn't as if I had a choice! He rushed me, okay? I wasn't ready! I just gave him a sedative that, okay, _maybemighthavebeensomepoison_ but that was _definitely_ an accident, I swear, and I didn't expect him to start sneezing blood everywhere!" He mourned the loss of his favourite sweater internally – that had been a gift from his dear _madre_, bless her soul. Bloodstains were so hard to clean.

"'Tonio," she started through gritted teeth, voice lowering reluctantly as the lights in the hall dimmed and lively conversation around them died to whispers, the air heavy with anticipation. _Perfect._ He flapped his hands at her before she could continue berating him, making shushing noises as he sat up in his chair, feigning interest at the stage far below. Antonio could be very good at pretending when he wanted to be.

She made a small 'tsk!' of annoyance, but a silence fell on the crowd as the lush red curtains drifted apart and she shut her mouth. There would be time to yell later – she'd smuggled her and Antonio into one of the private boxes on a _discount_ and she wasn't going to waste all that effort by hissing reprimands into his selectively deaf ear for the length of an _entire_ opera, minus intermission! Jeez, he could piss her off in his own time.

A lone cello slid into a mournful tune, and the darkness rippled as a woman stepped into the light, hands clasped modestly in front of her dark, ruffled gown. A pause in which the cello built up its low melody, and then dark curls shook as she lowered her lashes, mouth parting in slow, high song. "_Ave Maria..."_

It was beautiful. Utterly entrancing and heartbreakingly full – Femke felt her heart swell with emotion as she stared from above, feeling the vibrations fill the hall with a startling vibrancy. The woman (_Feliciana Vargas, informed the program in curly writing_) lifted her head as she sang, each note higher and stronger than the last. Oh, this was why she'd begged her brother for tickets to the new, rising virtuoso! Feliciana had only been in three performances, but already she was whispered about, admired for her beauty and girlish charm, but most of all, her voice. Femke swivelled her head to Antonio, unable to contain her excitement and ready to grab onto his arm with a small squeal, when –

She stared.

One Antonio Fernandez Carriedo was gazing intently down at one Feliciana Vargas, an expression of complete, devastating rapture burning in his eyes as his hands clutched the railing. Even in the dim light, it was unmistakable. He was _blind_ with sudden adoration, _intoxicated_ with marvel. She felt something falter inside her before an unreadable smirk lifted the corners of her mouth. The hall felt silent even though the cello was ringing and the soprano was singing as her mind shifted into gear, watching her co-worker with keen ambition.

Her brother was going to find this very interesting.

* * *

><p><strong>Closing Note:<strong>

I gave up studying for my exams for this. ;_;

And. If the end of the first part was confusing and ambiguous...it was meant to be C: This story is going to take on a very much darker tone - I've kind of plotted ahead, and yeah. Might bump it up to M soon.

...I THINK THE ENDING WAS TOO RUSHED BUT I: WHATEVER


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